Homeroom
by Sparky Dorian
Summary: (Detention would be more exciting.) High school AU. In which Tony is recovering from captivity in Afghanistan, students are going missing, Steve is a new transfer, and SHIELD are as sneaky as ever. Pepperony. Clint/Natasha. Peter/Gwen. Various Marvel characters included. Non slash.
1. Doldrums

_Tony coughed smoke from his lungs through a thick gag, keeping his eyes closed. They were sore from the florescent camera flashed, and the burlap obscured all light, so there wasn't any point to opening them anyway._

_He focused on everything he could read with his other senses._

_His shoulders hurt._

_His chest was on fire._

_Something was buzzing, like an overloaded generator, and there was a steady drip of water from the corner. It was cold and slightly humid._

_The only breaths in the room were his own._

_Footsteps sounded from outside, voices and orders and the stomping of boots. Until they faded away, and only a few sleepy steps remained._

_Tony leaned as far as he could, resting his head against the wall and willing his muscles to go limp._

_Day one._

* * *

He let his forehead hit his desk, and left it there.

It smelled like cheap disinfectant and sweat, the surface tacky and cold against his skin. He pulled his hood over his head and put his arms on top of it.

When it came to making people leave him alone, Tony couldn't have cared less about subtlety.

Against all odds, he was in class early; possibly the first time he'd been early since elementary school. The only other person in the room was Mr. Logan. And Tony knew that Logan wouldn't try to approach and/or talk to and/or console him.

He appreciated that.

"Gotta go pick up copies," Logan grunted, vaguely in his direction. "Don't trash anything while I'm gone, Stark."

Tony tapped his finger against the desk to show he'd heard.

As 7:30 approached, other students began to file in, chattering to each other and catching up about what they'd done over the break. It had been... What, a week for them? Two? Christmas had been a distant blip on his radar. Tony tuned them out, pushing his arms tighter to his head.

A ring of empty desks formed around him in the back of the room, at least one on each side. Tony peeked out to see that the next closest person was Susan Storm, three desks away. She was texting and so much as didn't look up at him.

Success.

The bell rang, high and loud, and Tony left his head down for role call. Mr. Logan said his name and moved on.

"Today we're going to be working with the divergence theorem," Logan said, marker squeaking on the whiteboard. "Can anyone define that?"

There was silence, and then breathless voice answered. "The sum of all sources minus the sum of all sinks gives the net flow out of a region."

"That's right, Parker. Sit down and I won't mark you tardy."

Tony could _hear_ Peter's obnoxious grin. "Thanks, Logan."

The squelching of wet sneakers stopped feet away, and Parker's bag dropped to the floor with a thud. He reached out and squeezed Tony's shoulder. "Hey, Tony."

Tony ignored him.

He also ignored most of the lecture, tuning in just enough that he'd be able to go over the book and spit it back out for an exam later. Multiple choice tests were easy anyway.

"Problems seven to twenty are due tomorrow. Get out."

Tony was the first out of the room, keeping his shoulders squared and his expression blank. Nobody tried to talk to him, and by some small miracle Parker headed the other way.

"Good morning, Mr. Stark," Professor Xavier said gently, when Tony walked in. Tony gave a stiff nod.

Professor Xavier creeped him out. He always seemed to know exactly what everybody was thinking.

"How are you feeling?" The teacher asked, rolling his wheelchair over to where Tony sat. Once again in the back of the room; he gave himself an A+ for consistency so far.

"Fine," Tony said.

"I heard about-"

"_Fine_." Tony gave him a stony look. "Great. Fan-tastic. I'm going to read until class starts."

An English nerd couldn't get mad at him for reading, right?

Professor Xavier sighed, and nodded. "Very well. If you need-"

"No thanks."

Without so much as a reprimand for Tony's tone, the man returned to the front of the room and greeted kids as they entered. Tony pretended to be engrossed in _War of the Worlds_.

As before, Tony found himself alone on the back row, with a thick buffer between him and anyone else. If some of the other students had been more or less reluctant to associate with him before, all of them were downright unwilling now. And it suited him just fine.

Professor Xavier launched into a spiel on Pride and Prejudice-yes, Mr. Storm, it was required reading-and the pages they'd need to finish by tomorrow. (No, Mr. Barton, Sparknotes was not allowed.)

Tony doodled schematics in the blank pages at the back of his book.

He only dimly registered anything anyone else said.

"Professor?"

Xavier paused in his explication of Mrs. Bennett's character. "Yes, Miss Gray?"

"Where's Hank?"

"Mr. McCoy? Why, I don't know. He may be ill. Or perhaps still on vacation. It is only the first day back. I expect he'll return later this week."

"Yeah... Okay."

"As I was saying..."

Tony made it through third period the same way he did the first two, and when lunch rolled around he shouldered his backpack and bought a small coffee and a bag of chips.

Sipping lightly, he left the commons and slipped through closing doors to the back of the school.

_No food or drink allowed_, the sign on the tech labs said.

Tony pushed inside and set his coffee down on the edge of a counter.

It was quiet, the clamor of other students muted by several meters of empty halls. All Tony could hear was the hum of machinery and the buzzing of circuits. He sat down and exhaled properly for the first time in hours.

Light clacking came from across the room. Bruce Banner was typing at one of the computers, glasses balanced haphazardly on his nose. He glanced up and gave Tony a small wave, pushing messy curls off his forehead. Tony hesitated, returned the wave, and Bruce worked unobtrusively.

Ah, the beauties of tactful people.

Just because Tony wasn't one, didn't mean he couldn't appreciate them.

He plugged his data drive in and brought up a sim, adjusting the proportions with one hand while picking up chips with the other. Focus.

The door banged open.

"That's not allowed-" A teacher started, reaching for his food. Then she saw his face and stopped, pulling her hand back. "Lunch ends in twenty minutes, Mr. Stark."

"Yep."

She left as quickly as she'd come.

Tony stared at the swinging door for a moment, his jaw tight, and considered dumping the coffee across the keyboard.

But then he wouldn't have any coffee, and it didn't make sense to punish innocent technology for... other things.

He looked back up at the screen.

"There you are..." Tony set to work repairing a bug, finishing the last of his chips. Even eating that much made his stomach start to churn. He ignored it, resting his chin on his hand. His fingers traced absently over the healing scar along his jaw, as he adjusted the joints of the arm piece and lost himself in the details.

The bell rang out.

Tony flinched, stumbling backward off his seat with wild eyes.

"Hey, you alright?" Banner scurried over, bending to look at him. "Hello?"

For several rapid heartbeats, he was somewhere else entirely, the world far away. Then Banner's face came into focus, and Tony nodded quickly.

"I-Yeah, perfect." His breathing was ragged as he rubbed his face, pushing himself up without taking Banner's offered assistance. He shoved his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking. "...Thanks."

Banner gave a nod, and a worried look. "Any time."

Tony threw his trash away, retrieved his data, and fled like he was being chased.

This really, really sucked.

* * *

Fourth period ended and Tony pushed out through the front doors of the school. It was chilly, his breath fogging up and his shoes slipping over frosted cement.

He checked twice to make sure his hoodie was zipped to his neck, adjusting the thick, dark fabric carefully.

His backpack dug into his shoulders as he took the stairs two at a time, hurrying around the corner and down the block to where a nondescript black car waited for him.

He slid into the back seat, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Day one.


	2. Rousing

_Thanks so much to everyone who's reviewed so far! I am trying to respond personally to all of them. Here's chapter two. I probably won't always be able to do so many updates, but I was very excited about it today. I'm quite tired and didn't proofread much, so I apologize for any errors. Feel free to bring them to my attention!_

_Also, as will probably become obvious quickly, most of the characters' backstories are still similar. Just tweaked age-wise and adjusted to my liking. _

_Enjoy!_

* * *

_Tony drifted slowly back to consciousness. He held perfectly still, registering that he was now lying down instead of tied to a chair. Someone was in the room with him, their steps echoing off __the stone walls. He forced his breath to even out. _

_ Something was different... It took him a moment to realise what it was._

_His head was clear. He wasn't drugged, for the first time since-well. However long it had been since they captured him._

_ He wished he could go back under again. _

_ Everything hurt, and now that his mind was fully awake, it whirled with images of everything that had happened. _

_ The cry echoing in his ears was desperate."Tony!" _

_ He felt the heat of the explosion on his skin as if it were happening all over again. _

_ His hands clenched, before he could stop them, and his breath caught. _

_ "There is no need to pretend, Mr. Stark." The voice was neutral and accented. "I know that you are awake." _

_ Tony stiffened, and hissed in pain at the sudden movement. He opened his eyes, blinking to see in the darkness. A man stood over him, in a suit and glasses. Tony flinched. _

_ "You have been asleep for many hours," the man said, his mouth twisting. "I was not entirely sure you would ever wake. Your injuries-"_

_ "Injuries?" Tony's voice was higher than he'd have liked. He gritted his teeth. _

_ "Yes," the man said, turning away and tending to the dim source of light. "You see-"_

_ Tony's eyes flicked down to his chest, where a heavy weight seemed to have settled. Thick wires snaked out from under his shirt, and he tugged on them, gasping in surprise when it pulled at something lodged in his ribs. He followed the wires to a car battery resting on his table. His breaths grew ragged as he lifted his shirt, holding the wires in his fist. Adrenaline made the pain fade away, and he pushed his arms beneath him. He struggled to sit up, staring in horror at metal implanted in his skin. _

_ Just as quickly, the man forced him down again. His words were stern. "You must not move."_

_ Tony yanked away, eyes blown wide. "Wh-what did you do to me?" He asked, sharp with fear._

_ The man offered Tony some water. He gave a half-smile that wasn't really a smile at all. "I saved you."_

* * *

Tony always forgot that Pepper was strong until she was committing some violent act against him.

When she cornered him before the last class of the day and slugged him in the shoulder, hard, he remembered suddenly and vividly.

"Ow!" He stared at her with hurt eyes, rubbing his arm and making sure his hoodie was zipped up. "What was that for?"

She glared at him, and pushed him back hard. "You stupid idiot. You've been back for two weeks and you didn't even call me. I had to find out from the _news_."

Tony stumbled backward. He glared back just as harshly. "Sorry that wasn't first on my list of things to do, Potts. The hospital didn't have great reception."

There was a long, tense pause.

Then Pepper hugged him gently.

Because Pepper was the better of the two of them. She was the bigger person. Her fingers rubbing gentle against his back attested to that.

"Welcome back," she said, quiet. "I'm... It's good you're safe."

He was stiff, nodding. His arms remained at his sides. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Come on," she said, pulling back and tugging his elbow. "I'll walk you to class."

"Sure." He nodded again, numb, and let her lead him down the hall.

Pepper spoke while they walked. He didn't know if she just wanted to catch him up, or if she wanted to fill the silence. Or maybe both. "A teacher got suspended while you were gone. Mr. Lensherr. You remember him?"

"Yeah."

"Well, he pushed a boy off a ledge. I don't know if he'll be back. And... three, no, four students changed schools."

She turned the corner, keeping him from running into the wall. "I'm only attending two classes here instead of three. It didn't make sense to come over on A days for mathematics when they have it at my other school. So I'll just be here for the last two on B days now." She guided him to his classroom and pressed a granola bar into his hand. "Call me if you need to talk, okay, Tony?"

"I..."

"Tony."

He gave a faint smile. "Yeah."

"Good."

She left him to go to class and walked off, high heels clicking.

He... had missed her, while he was gone.

* * *

That night, he picked up a cell phone for the first time since his return.

If you'd asked him, before any of it happened, he would've told you that that would've been high on his list of things to do. Check the internet, his phone... Get back in touch. Possibly only behind getting something real to eat.

But after everything...

He didn't really want to be in touch anymore.

"Dummy, bring me a blanket, yeah?" Tony curled up at the corner of the couch, the phone illuminating the dark room. The glow was harsh and yellow. When he designed a phone...

If.

If he did, he would have the backlight adjust to ease eye strain. And the design would be sleek... Streamlined.

Dummy rolled up beside him, offering the blanket with a low noise. Tony smiled, tired. "Thanks."

Butterfingers and You crowded up next to him, too, whirring gently. Tony reached out and brushed his fingers over each.

"Hey Butterfingers. You."

The three of them stayed next to the couch while he looked at his phone, blanket pulled around his shoulders like a shield. "Pretty cold in here, huh?"

He scrolled through his contacts list. This phone felt unfamiliar in his hands, but the data was his. Backups. At least there was something he hadn't lost.

At the _family_ contact folder, he paused, fingers hovering.

_Howard Stark._

_ Mom._

He wasn't going to be one of those people who called the deceased just to listen to their voicemail messages. That was something suited for a Hallmark movie; not for his life. He shut the phone off and settled down, watching his robots stay circled around him.

"Night, guys."

Dummy whirred quietly in response.

Tony closed his eyes.

* * *

He snapped from a nightmare hours later, tangled in the blanket and sticky with sweat. His chest rose and fell erratically, and he struggled to free himself. The dream blurred with reality, and for a moment he was lost.

Fact check, he told himself. Breathe.

He was in his house. The smell of his reheated slice of pizza, half-eaten, still hung on the air. It was dark. His robots were gone. But he wasn't in danger.

A forced breath in and out, and he was firmly in the present again.

Footsteps came from around the corner.

Tony scrambled to pick the blanket back up, laying down and pulling it over his head. He went very still, waiting.

"Tony."

He didn't move, willing his heart to slow as he remained perfectly quiet. Obadiah leaned over the back of the couch, heaving a sigh. "That trick stopped being funny a long time ago. Come on. We need to talk."

Tony sat up slowly, resisting the urge to pull his knees to his chest.

He leaned back against the couch instead, trying to put off a relaxed, confident vibe instead of nervous and flighty.

Dad always said he looked nervous and flighty too often.

"What about?" Tony asked, loosening his shoulders carefully. All traces of sleepiness had been expunged from his mind after the adrenaline rush. Now he just felt tense.

Obie spent a moment just looking at him, then sat down on the coffee table. "How were your first couple days back at school?"

"Fine," Tony said.

"Good. I knew it would be good for you to go back." Obie clapped Tony's knee and Tony smiled back. Going back was the last thing he'd wanted to do. He'd have liked to wait and just go to college at the new semester. The classes at Stanley Martin were harder than most high schools', so he'd heard, but they still didn't really challenge him.

But Obie had advised him to stay; and Obie was the only person around to give him any advice these days. The only grownup who cared about Tony more than they cared about their business or their wealth or their public image.

It was invaluable, and he wouldn't do anything to endanger that relationship.

"Yeah." Tony fiddled with his sleeve, giving Obadiah a questioning look. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

It sure wasn't school. That wasn't big enough to warrant a middle of the night conversation.

There was a long pause, then Obie exhaled heavily. "Look, Tony, it's been almost three weeks since you got back to the US. The press is going rabid. I know you don't-"

"No, I don't."

Obie silence him with a sharp look. "I know you don't _want_ to, but you've got to give a press conference soon. I've fended them off as long as I can, tried to give you some time to get back on your feet. But there isn't much more I can do at this point. You're going to have to just grit your teeth and do it."

Tony stared hard at his hands. "When?"

"I've scheduled one this Saturday. Try to clean up those scrapes and bruises best you can. The ones that are left by then, anyway." He touched Tony's black eye, now fading to almost nothing. The barest hints of green and yellow hovered around it.

"How many people?" Tony moved away from Obadiah's touch, sitting up straighter.

"Somebody from all the major circles. A few will bring more than one, and there will be the lower security employees." Obie leaned in close. "You better not go outside alone after, either. That's where they'll pounce on you."

Tony nodded, troubled, and picked at a loose bit of skin next to his thumbnail. It stung unpleasantly. "Saturday. Great."

"Go back to bed, Tony." Obie stood and patted his shoulder once. Tony waited until he was gone and picked up his phone, scrolling down and staring at the entry of contact information.

_ Pepper Potts. _

The picture was almost a year old; of her standing over a river. She was laughing, her hair blowing every which way. Tony didn't know if anything could top that.

He did draw his knees up to his chest, now that he was alone. He rested his chin on them and let his jaws press together, rubbing a thumb over the number thoughtfully.

Finally he pressed call and waited.

It rang nine times.

_"Hello! You've reached the voicemail of Pepper Potts. If you're looking for Tony, call his phone. Otherwise, shoot. Leave me a message and I'll call you back!"_

Tony pressed the end button quickly and tossed his phone to slide across the coffee table and scratch to a halt.

Hands trempling, he pulled the blanket over his head, curling up on his side and breathing to counts of ten.

Nope.

He didn't need to talk.

Most definitely not.


	3. The Art of Elusion

_ Oh, goodness... The last bit of chapter two was most definitely written in a cold-medicine induced haze. I apologize. Eventually I will go back and fix it up. _

_Just to clarify, this does take place in present day._

_ I'm wondering if this qualifies as more of an Avengers/Iron Man crossover, since a lot of the Iron Man plot elements are used here. Thoughts on this?_

_ Rest assured, there will be a lot more of the rest of the gang soon. This chapter and the next are heavily Tony-centric, and then it'll dial back a bit and even out. _

_ Thanks to everyone who's reviewed! _

* * *

_ It was only minutes after he awoke that pounding came at the door. _

_ Someone shouted something in a foreign language._

_ Tony glanced over to the man, panic bubbling under the surface. He fought for a cool exterior. "Wh-what's going on?" _

_ The man called back in the strange language, and shot Tony an urgent look. "Stand up. Stand up! Listen to me, boy, do as I do." _

_ "But-"_

_ "Now!"_

_The doors slammed open._

_ Scrambling to his feet and mirroring the man's nonthreatening pose, Tony tried to stay standing even as his vision went grey._

_ It didn't work._

_ He stumbled, falling backward onto the blood-stained cot, and found ten guns suddenly trained on his head. Guns with a very familiar logo on them._

_ Two muscled, dark-skinned men grabbed Tony by his arms, lifting him up as another growled a question in his face._

_ He got the impression they'd done this before; and he didn't imagine they'd been pleased with the quality of his responses. Not when there was still a black spot in his memory that started with pain and a sickly-sweet smell and ended with being hooked up to a car battery. _

_ "Do not struggle," his companion urged him quietly._

_ Tony couldn't have even if he wanted to. _

_ The newcomer spoke, his tone genial as he spread his arms wide. Tony watched him with wide eyes, his heart pounding. _

_ "He says welcome, Tony Stark. Heir to the most famous mass murderer in American history." There was a pause. His companion continued with mirthless humor. "He is honored."_

_ Tony nodded once, stiffly. These people knew him. They had Stark Industries weapons. Who _were_ they?_

_ The man's expression darkened as he continued to speak, and he took a step closer. Tony tried not to flinch. _

_ "He wants you to know," his companion said, careful, "that you are not who he wanted for this job. But you will do it anyway."_

_ A flash of frustration swelled up in Tony's chest. "Look, I don't even know what-"_

_ His head snapped back as the man struck him. _

_ "He's instructed that children speak only when they are told to," his companion said, an apology in his eyes but not in his voice. Tony swallowed hard and clenched his fists, jaw tight. _

_ "He wants you to build the missile. The Jericho Missile that Stark Industries demonstrated earlier this week."_

_ The man held out a photograph. _

_ Tony was silent for a moment, then raised his eyes to meet the man's. Fear pressed back to make room for determination. He spoke firmly. _

_ "I refuse."_

* * *

Tony was ready when Obie came to the door.

He still didn't want to go through with it, but he wasn't about to let Obie think he was weak in the interim. He tied his tie and buttoned up the dark shirt, ran his fingers through his hair and bid his robots goodbye.

They wouldn't be too bored in the apartment, he hoped.

"Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?" Obadiah joked, holding out a coffee. "I don't think you've been ready on time since you were six and I took you to the Smithsonian."

"Tony built a robot to replace him," he said, sipping the drink and tucking his free hand into his pocket. "Robots are compulsively punctual."

He wouldn't admit how appealing the idea actually sounded.

"Well, maybe Tonybot will be better at sticking to his script." Obadiah held out a stack of cards. "This is the official story."

"The official story?" Tony glanced up, neutral. "Is it the truth?"

"It's close enough."

Tony slipped the cards into his jacket and nodded once.

"Got it."

* * *

His hands were white-knuckled against the edges of the podium, the sea of faces and cameras before him seeming endless.

So far, he'd stuck to the cards.

A woman asked about his hospital stay and Tony rattled off the answer, carefully penned in black ink.

Then man in the back raised his hand, and Tony nodded for him to go ahead. "Anthony, what did you see in Afghanistan that's affected you so deeply?"

Tony glanced down at the cards.

_I saw terrorism in effect first hand, _they read. _Which made it that much clearer that we need to redouble our efforts to build-_

He turned them blank-side up, and stared at the backs of his hands instead.

"I saw innocent people being killed by weapons that were meant to protect them," he said, quiet. "American citizens. Afghani citizens. Little kids."

He felt Obadiah stiffen behind him, but he plowed ahead. "I saw things that I'd never imagined possible, and it made me realize something. This system, this system that I've inherited, is comfortable with zero accountability."

He thought of the stories of villages burnt to the ground. Yensin gasping his last breath in captivity. The young boy who'd cried for his mother.

"Well, I'm not."

The room was silent, not even a whisper coming from the crowd. He felt Obadiah start to grab his arm.

"Which is why..." Tony finally raised his eyes, lifting his chin. "Effective immediately, Stark Industries will no longer be manufacturing weapons."

Chaos erupted, and Obadiah pulled him backward. Tony kept speaking over their questions. "Until I know how to make things right, we-"

"Good talk, good talk," Obadiah said, pushing Tony behind him. "Kids these days. There are gonna be some good articles about this, huh? Very exciting."

"Mr. Stane-"

"Anthony-"

"Quiet down." Obadiah levelled them with his authoritative stare, and neatly sidestepped everything that had been said.

He exploded at Tony later. It was the angriest Tony had ever seen him.

After, Tony closed himself in his lab and worked on Dummy's wheels, leaving the TV on National Geographic just to cut through the silence.

He spent the weekend in his head, far away.

* * *

Tony hated history. The classroom was small, and they filled up nearly every seat when everyone was in attendance.

Which meant that his both self-and-socially-imposed isolation zone shrank dramatically.

(For the record, he'd been at an unparalleled high in his other classes; the full two back rows had remained almost entirely empty.)

Not to mention the fact that now that Mr. Lensherr had been suspended, replaced by a dark-haired woman who had all the same intimidation and none of the entertainment, it was an hour and a half of dates and names with nothing to break the monotony.

He was sketching ideas for a better temperature regulation system when the classroom door opened and Phil Coulson walked in.

Tony barely glanced up. Seeing the vice principal was no shock; he was a common enough sight among the students, not like Principal Fury. But when Coulson tugged someone into the room with him-a stranger, nonetheless-Tony paused.

Coulson cleared his throat. "Pardon me. Ms. Hill?"

Their teacher stopped in her lecture, eyes sweeping over Coulson and the stranger, and nodded briskly. "I'll take it from here."

"Thank you." Coulson squeezed the stranger's elbow and closed the door behind himself.

Tony looked the new kid up and down. He assumed he was a new student, anyway. Maybe he was their replacement teacher. He was pretty tall, and had shoulders like an athlete.

He was also blond-ish, blue-eyed, and standing like this was a military inspection and he'd just been called out for tying his shoes wrong.

There were pencil smudges down the sides of his hands, and his jacket was worn at the edges.

Nothing interesting, Tony decided, and looked back to his design.

"Class, this is Steve Rogers. He's just transferred here. I expect you'll all help him feel welcome." Ms. Hill nodded to the new boy. "Tell us about yourself."

"Uh..." Steve coughed quietly. "I, yes, I just transferred here. I... had some health problems so I haven't been to school, well, anywhere, in... a while. I apologize if I'm not up to speed on some things. I'm living with A-with Mr. Coulson. I like to... read?"

"Thank you. You can sit down."

There was a long pause. Tony gritted his teeth. Don't...

"There's a spot by Mr. Stark in the back."

"Thank you, ma'am."

He rolled his eyes at his desk and turned away, scribbling violently.

Steve made his way through the rows and set his bag down, sitting down with an uncertain, friendly, "Hello."

"Don't talk to _him_," the girl sitting in front of Tony hissed. (She hadn't been at all pleased to have to sit there in the first place.)

Steve gave her a puzzled look, shifted it to Tony, then back, and shrugged. "Thanks for the advice, but I can decide who to talk to myself."

The bell rang, and Tony stood, stowing his designs into his backpack. Steve didn't get up, a map and a schedule spread on his desk. Tony glanced over them, hesitated, then jabbed a hall.

"Your next class is there."

Steve looked up, startled. "Oh. Thank you. I... How do I get there from here?" He looked embarrassed, fiddling with the edge of his jacket.

Tony gave a tight smile. "Turn left, then-" Oh. His class was next door. He couldn't give the guy directions and walk the same way. "Just... follow me."

"Oh. Sure, let me-" He hurried to put his things away and slung his backpack over his shoulder, giving a tentative smile. "Alright."

"Great." Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and pushed out of the room. "Double time. That teacher marks tardies mercilessly."

Steve kept up easily. He was even taller when Tony was next to him. "I really appreciate it," he said, annoyingly earnest.

Tony nodded. He pointed to the door. "That one. Chop chop."

The bell rang and Steve's eyes widened. He ran inside, cutting off whatever he wanted to say. Tony rubbed a hand through his hair and slumped into his next class. Part of him was curious about this new kid-they hardly ever got new students. The last time they did was Thor and Loki last year. And he was living with _Coulson_.

That meant something was up. Tony doubted Coulson was the type to just up and take in a kid unless there was a reason.

The teacher started class by chewing some kid out for bringing coffee in and spilling it-the whole room smelled like it, and Tony wished he'd had the presence of mind to pick some up between classes.

After her lecture, everything was dead silent.

"Mr. Stark, would you mind opening your textbook, please?" Her tone had turned suddenly very gentle. Tony's fists clenched.

"Sure," he said, through gritted teeth. "Love to."

He flipped it to a random page and texted Pepper under the desk.

(Pepper was a Very Good Student, on the surface. But her rebellious streak manifested in small ways. Such as, when she was annoyed with her teachers, she'd text him during class.)

_Can't hang out after school_, she said. _Sorry. My sociology professor just assigned a six-page paper. _

Because Pepper was both an overachiever and sharp as a knife, she was attending college classes at the same time as high school ones. He didn't know why she bothered coming back here at all.

He raised an eyebrow at his phone. _i was unaware we were going to hang out. _

_ I was planning to strong-arm you into it,_ Pepper responded, and he could hear her tone perfectly, equal parts lofty and matter of fact. _So. Raincheck_.

_a raincheck on abduction? i don't think that's how it works, potts. _

_ Well, you don't have a choice either way, Mr. Stark. I'm abducting you, remember?_

Tony glowered. _don't call me mr. stark._

His teacher saw him texting. The corners of her moth tightened, just a bit, but she kept explaining valence electrons and gave him a pitying look. Tony shot a dark look at his desk.

_ My professor's looking, _Pepper texted back a moment later. _Shouldn't have sat on the front row._ _I'll see you when I kidnap you, Mr. Stark._

_ hate you_

_No you don't. XOXOXOXOXOX_

* * *

Tony felt a hand grab his shoulder. His reaction was instinctive, ducking out from under it and whirling around, his eyes wide.

They were met by blue eyes, equally shocked.

It was that Rogers kid.

"What do _you_ want?" Tony asked, slamming his locker shut. Rogers flinched.

"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, guilty.

Tony sneered. "You didn't."

"Whatever you say." Rogers pushed his hands into his pockets. "Listen, I-"

Tony cut him off. "You're new here, so I'll give you a free tip. People don't talk to me. It's an unspoken rule broken only by faculty members, Peter Parker, because he's an idiot, and Pepper."

"I... What?"

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" Tony took on an overly patient tone. "Hm?"

Rogers just looked at him.

Tony swore under his breath. "Look, if students walked around with signs on their backs, mine would read _Pariah._" He added hastily, "And it's taken some drastic methods to achieve that, so buzz off."

"You mean you _like_ not having anyone talk to you?" Rogers frowned. His confusion would've been comical, if it hadn't made Tony want to deck him so badly. These weren't questions he wanted to answer.

"Yep."

Tony walked off.

Maybe he'd take the hint.

"Wait," Rogers said, catching up easily. Tony turned on him.

"Good heck, Rogers. What are you, a lost puppy? Leave me alone!"

Roger's expression shuttered. "Alright. See you later." He left in the opposite direction and Tony rubbed his hands over his face, hard. Guilt, no. Relief. Yes.

Parker was sitting on the hood of the black sedan when Tony reached it. The driver was giving the kid dangerous looks, which he dutifully ignored.

"Hey, Tony."

"Not today, Parker." Tony reached out to open the car door. Peter was at his side, snapping it shut again before Tony could blink.

Who knew Parker actually had reflexed?

"What?" Tony was half desperate and half amused exasperation. But not really amused, just really, really annoyed.

"I've been trying to talk to you for weeks, man," Parker said, a little defensive. "I just... I wanted to tell you that I get it. At least some of it, and that if you need to blow off some steam or be distracted for awhile, I got your back. There's a gym not too far from my house, we could run or play basketball, that helps."

"Wait. _You_ play basketball?"

"...Yeah."

"Well, I don't."

Parker gave him a look. "Just take this, okay?" He held out a crumpled piece of paper. Tony made a show of accepting it and placing it delicately in his pocket.

"Happy now?"

Parker beamed. "Yep!"

Tony rolled his eyes, and got in the car. "Great."

* * *

_Stuck on page three, _Pepper texted him, around two AM. Tony was redesigning a stabilizer.

_ who is this?_

_ You're not funny, Tony. What's another way to say "completely ridiculous assertions with no backing evidence" that doesn't sound so blunt? _

Tony took a moment to virtually put a screw in place, took a gulp of cold coffee, then responded.

_unfounded. _

The phone rang and he hit the video call setting.

"You are my hero," Pepper said. Her hair was piled into a bizarre-looking bun and she spoke in hushed tones.

"Gee, you called me just to say that?" Tony used one hand to trash a superfluous piece and hit save. "I'm touched."

"I've been trying to think of the right word for the past twenty-five minutes. It's warranted." Pepper was sipping water, because she practiced moderation. "What are you still doing up, anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, and she rolled her eyes.

"Right, of course you're up. Well, tell me about your day. I need a break."

"I cured cancer and shook the president's hand." Tony slipped a stylus between his teeth and set the computer to fabricate his newest model. "'re you impreshed?"

"Positively dazzled." Pepper swiveled her chair a few times. "Hey, have you seen Alex Summers lately? He hasn't been in class all week."

He removed the pen and squinted. "Alex Summers. Who's that?"

"Blonde. Cocky. He's friends with Hank."

Tony gave her a blank look.

"Hank McCoy who used to be in our math class. Dark hair and glasses. Alex hangs out with him."

"Oh. Them. Nope, haven't seen Summers. Haven't seen McCoy either." Tony dumped the rest of his coffee down the drain with a grimace. "Why?"

"Just wondered." Pepper sounded troubled, and when he looked back at the screen she was frowning. "I feel like there are an awful lot of people not in class lately. You don't think there's something going around?"

"It's January. There's always something going around. Don't worry about it."

Pepper sighed. "You're right. It's probably nothing."

"It's definitely nothing," Tony said.

Pepper yawned and winced.

"Go to sleep, before you fall off your chair and sprain your... wrist, or something. I'm the only one allowed to be up at this hour."

Pepper yawned again, long and jaw-cracking. "Alright, you win. Good night, Tony."

Tony's mouth quirked up, bemused. "Good night, Pepper."


	4. Birds of a Feather

_ What's this? Someone else's POV! Forsooth. _

_ Thank you for your continued interest and support! You all make my day. I'm a little worried that the characters' voices aren't strong enough/in character enough, especially Pepper, so any feedback or critique on that would be lovely. _

* * *

_For a long time after they were finally returned to their cell, Tony just sat against the wall, his head resting on his knees. He stared at the floor. _

_ His lungs felt stretched and sore, his throat and sinuses burning from the water he'd choked on. Over and over, they'd held him under, each time waiting until he was dizzy and desperate from lack of oxygen to let him up again. _

_ He was never going to get out of here. _

_ "Boy." His companion crouched in front of him, tapping his arm. "I need to change your bandages."_

_ Tony lifted his gaze, dull. His head felt heavy. "Why?"_

_ "Because." The man tugged Tony to his feet and hefted the car battery, making him sit down on the little cot again. Firelight flickered off his glasses as he rebandaged Tony. The skin around the electromagnet was pink and blistered; burnt from the sparks of water hitting electricity. The man applied a thin layer of medication and covered it with bandages again. His movements were smooth and experienced. _

_ "You're a doctor?" Tony asked, curious despite himself. _

_ "Yes. I have been for many years." He made Tony drink another helping of water. It tasted like sand and metal. _

_ "What's your name?"_

_ He felt stupid, asking questions like these. But he found that he wanted to know. And if he was going to die here, in a cave, it might as well be with an acquaintance instead of a stranger. _

_ "I am Yensin." He gave a small smile. _

_ "Nice to meet you," Tony said, holding out a grimy hand. Yensin shook it, his smile growing. _

_ "Nice to meet you too." _

_ The cup clinked as Tony set it down. "...Thank you. For saving my life." _

_ "You are welcome." There was a pause, then the man sat down next to Tony. "What do you plan to do with it?"_

_ Tony frowned. "What do you mean?"_

_ "You have been given a second chance," Yensin said, leaning closer. "To change your path." He gestured to the door, growing heated. "What you saw out there, that is your legacy. Your weapons in the hands of those murderers. Is this what you want? To give up and give in while they continue to take lives with your creations?"_

_ "They're not mine!" Tony's hands curled into fists, his voice climbing higher. "It's not my company, it's my father's!"_

_ Silence fell and Tony looked down. _

_ "It was my Dad's, I mean. But I'm... I'm seventeen. I can't run a company, and I definitely can't stop all this. Before today, I didn't even know-" He broke off, pressing his fingers into his eyes until he saw stars. "None of this. I just _can't_, okay?"_

_ Yensin was quiet for a long time. "Stark... Tony. I know this is very hard for you. I understand what it is to lose what you love. But you must believe me when I tell you that you can do this. Your fate is not set in stone. You can follow a different road than your father."_

_ "What does it matter, anyway?" Tony let his forehead rest against his palms. "They're going to kill both of us either way. And even if they don't, I'll be dead in a week."_

_ "Well." Yensin shot him a wry smile. "Then this is a pretty big week for you, isn't it?"_

_ Tony looked at him, probing, then nodded sharply. _

_ "Yeah. It is."_

_ And just like that, he had a plan._

* * *

Steve cut a piece of his eggs neatly and dipped it in ketchup, holding a paperback with one hand. It was a science fiction novel; published back in 1938. It was yellowed and curled, the papers thick with age. He'd seen it once, in a store window. It had been new then, brightly colored and far too expensive for him.

The science fiction of his age seemed to be silly now. Small, where it had been fantastical and far-fetched before.

The present was so much bigger than anything he could've imagined.

"Steve?"

He sat up straight in his chair, and gave a nod. "Good morning, sir."

"Good morning." Coulson's suit was pressed and tidy, his movements crisp as he straightened his sleeves. "Did you sleep well?"

"Uh... Yeah-yes. Yeah, I did. Thank you." Steve gave a cautious smile. "There's breakfast on the stove, if you want it."

"Oh. Thank you. You didn't have to do that." Coulson scooped some eggs onto his plate and buttered a slice of pan-toasted bread.

Coulson, by his own claims, didn't own a toaster.

Steve suspected he'd put it away, not thinking Steve would be able to use it without burning the house down.

"No trouble, sir." Steve finished his food and rinsed the plate, setting it into the dishwasher. "I was up early."

"How was your first day? I'm sorry I was so late getting home. I had some... business, to attend to." Coulson sat at the small, circular table and sipped his coffee. "Did you meet some people?"

"I... Yes, I did." Steve pulled his jacket on, feeling more comfortable with the familiar weight on his shoulders. "Thanks. It was good. What business?" He paused. "I mean, if I can ask, sir. Does it have to do with SHIELD?"

Coulson looked up over his mug, eyebrows raising.

Steve went stiff.

"Relax, Rogers," Coulson said, a hint of amusement to his tone. Steve looked at the ground, his fists clenched.

"Yes, sir."

"You're right, it had to do with SHIELD. But you don't need to worry about that until we need you to be more involved. Just keep to your assignment." Coulson drained the last of his coffee and glanced down at his watch. "Romanoff knows, and Barton knows some, too. They're the only ones who do, and we'd like to keep it that way. Have you seen them at school?"

"Not yet, sir, but I'm sure I will."

Coulson stood. Steve collected his plate and mug, putting them in the dishwasher quickly. Coulson sighed. "Steve, I didn't bring you here to be my housekeeper."

"I know." Steve started the machine. "Just trying to be useful, sir."

"You're already useful. You're going to be an essential part of this operation. We wouldn't have cleared you to be off base otherwise." Coulson adjusted his suit. "Now, I have a meeting to get to. You can come with me, but it'll mean being early."

"I don't mind." Steve slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I'm still getting used to the layout, anyway. I'll use the extra time to get to class."

They got into Coulson's automobile, a simpler one than some Steve had seen since being out. It was blue and small, and Steve balanced his backpack on his knees in the front seat. The ride to school was quiet.

"Find my office, if you need anything today," Coulson said at last, pulling into the faculty parking. "It's on the map."

"Thank you, sir. I'll be fine." Steve got out and kept his hands in his pockets. He still felt like he should salute.

"Good luck. And..." Coulson looked a bit awkward. "Ease up a little on the _sir_."

"Yes sir." Steve flushed. "I mean... I'll do my best, Agent Coulson. Thanks for the ride."

Coulson disappeared into the school and Steve looked up at it. It was a tall building, red bricks and dark metal beams. He exhaled, and stepped through the doors.

Maybe today would be better.

* * *

"Today sucks," Tony mumbled into his sleeve.

"You say something, Stark?" Mr. Logan asked, from his desk.

"No," Tony didn't lift his head, his face buried in his arms. There'd been an emergency and he'd ended up sleeping for all of twenty minutes. And Obie had set up a whole new course of rules. If he knew Tony was sneaking out...

Well, he couldn't find out.

Tony wasn't sure he'd even be allowed to _breathe_ unsupervised before long. And Obie had locked him out of Stark Industries completely.

He was too tired to feel any real emotions, but if he wasn't, he'd be... well. He'd be using words that would get him kicked out of school.

"Who are you?" Logan asked suddenly. There was a pause.

"Didn't Mr. Coulson..." The new voice trailed off.

Tony moaned quietly.

"Oh. _You're_ Steve Rogers?" Logan made a sound that Tony knew meant he was rolling his eyes. "Great. Class starts in ten minutes. Go sit down."

Rogers walked all the way across the classroom, past rows of nice, empty, outside-of-Tony's-bubble chairs, and sat down right next to him.

Tony turned his head sideways to stare at Rogers incredulously. "Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?" He snapped.

Rogers seemed perfectly unbothered, leaning back and pulling out a book that looked about a hundred years old. "Yes, yes you did."

"And are you really a simpleton, or do you just _choose_ to be oblivious?" Tony sat up and glared.

"That's a trick question," Rogers said, not even looking up.

A moment passed, and Tony heaved an exasperated sigh. "Aren't there plenty of other unsuspecting strangers you could go force your company on?"

Rogers shrugged, turning a page. "Well, I figure the devil you know..."

Tony snorted. "Thanks."

"You're welcome."

* * *

And so, somehow, miracle of all miracles, Tony Stark ended up eating lunch with Steve Rogers.

He thought that, somewhere, hell must've been freezing over.

"Is that all you eat?" Steve eyed his cup of coffee and granola bar dubiously.

"Yep." Tony spoke with a full mouth. "And I've only got this-" he waved the granola bar for emphasis, "because Pepper snuck a handful of them into my backpack last week."

"Pepper sounds like a very impressive da-woman-girl." Steve's complexion lent itself well to blushing. Tony found it _hilarious. _

"Yeah. Just don't get on her bad side," he said fervently. "Ever."

"I'll keep that in mind." Steve leaned back against the wall and took a bite of his sandwich. He'd actually brought a lunch to school. In a paper freaking bag. Tony was really very impressed with himself for not making fun of it.

Well, not making fun of it excessively.

"Really though," Steve said, frowning. "Coffee isn't a suitable meal replacement. Unless they've managed to add a bunch of stuff I don't know about these days. Do you eat more than that when you're at home?"

Tony bristled. "Do you always try to parent people you've barely met, or am I just lucky?"

Rogers put his hands up in the universal gesture for _don't kill me, I'm friendly_, and tossed his crumpled-up paper bag into the trash. His aim wasn't half bad. "Sorry. I'm sure you can handle it yourself. And when they hospitalise you for malnutrition-"

"When they hospitalise me for malnutrition, they'll put coffee in the IV." Tony took a gulp and gave Rogers a pointed look. "I was just starting not to hate you, Rogers. Don't mess it up."

Rogers's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You hated me?"

Tony waved a hand. "Yeah, but don't worry about it. I hate everybody."

"That sounds... exhausting." Rogers frowned.

"It's like the justice system. Awful until proven tolerable." Tony smiled crookedly. "It's worked out pretty well so far."

Rogers shook his head, bemused. "If you say so."

* * *

Tony ate with Steve the next day, too, since Pepper had to skip high school to make up an exam for one of her other classes.

"It's not that I prioritize high school lower," she'd told him over the phone, sounding out of breath and guilty. "It's just that I get college credit for these, and they'll matter more in the long run."

"So basically you're saying that you prioritize high school lower." Tony smiled wryly. "Don't worry about it, Potts. If your grades here were any better, you'd be getting inducted into Mensa. You can afford to play hooky once."

"Don't call it that," she huffed. "I'm going still to do the homework, you know, and it's really-"

"Pepper. I'm just kidding. Go retake your test, you're going to do great."

Pepper sighed. "Thanks, Tony. I'll call you after, when I'm feeling... Human again, and you can tell me whatever it is you've been waiting to tell me."

"How did you-"

"I can hear it in your voice, Mr. Stark, don't underestimate my powers of deduction." There was a grating noise in the background as Pepper's car started-really, Tony didn't even like her owning that death trap, let alone driving it-and she continued in a businesslike tone. "So there's no use denying it. Just wish me luck and you can give a full report tonight."

"Yes, ma'am." Tony's mouth twitched. "Good luck."

"Thanks," Pepper said.

He slipped the phone into his pocket.

For a moment, he considered going to the familiar tech lab to eat, with Banner's silent not-really-companionship and the hum of machinery. It sounded appealing in a way.

But then, he spent enough time with silent companionship and machinery at home.

And Rogers wasn't... _so_ bad. Not awful. Tolerable, probably.

He bought a coffee and went on a search.

* * *

"I'm-I'm sorry, Tony," Steve stammered, every inch filled with nervous energy. He didn't know what was up with the guy. Half the time he was mellow, even casually sarcastic, and half the time he was uptight like nothing else. "I really didn't mean to."

"Yeah, you've said. Ten times. And I said it's fine." Tony tugged on the hoodie to keep the hot-soaked fabric from burning his skin while they walked to the bathroom. "Worse things have happened, trust me."

Tony pushed the door open.

"Let me help, at least," Steve said. "I can-"

"No!"

Steve pulled his hands back like he was the one who'd been burned.

Tony exhaled. "I mean, no thanks. It's no big deal, I can handle it. Just wait out here for me, got it?"

"Got it." Steve's shoulders slumped.

"Great." Tony ducked inside and checked under the stalls. Nobody but him, and they didn't have cameras in the bathrooms. Quickly, he unzipped his jacket and ran it under cold water, squeezing out warm, light brown water. He really didn't know why they had to make the coffee _that_ hot.

"Hurry..." He muttered to himself, casting an uneasy glance to where the blue circle stood out through his t-shirt. The sight of it made his stomach do a weird flipping thing, like always.

Not a nice flipping thing, like that time last summer when Pepper held his hand during a fireworks show.

(So she wouldn't fall off the platform they'd been standing on, but still.)

No, it was a bad flipping thing. Like when you got an unexpected breakup text, or when you were suddenly and very undeniably reminded that all that was between you and death was an electromagnet hooked up to a theoretical generator.

It made him want to puke.

"Tony?" Steve called.

"Yeah, almost done," Tony said. He wrung out as much water as he could and pulled it back on, grimacing. It was cold and damp and smelled like cheap school coffee.

Sucking it up and moving on seemed to be the only course of action. And he didn't want to make Rogers feel guiltier. Which seemed altogether too nice for Tony, but everyone had their off days.

"I just need to wash my hands now," he said, pushing them under the water and scrubbing.

His phone vibrated in his pocket.

"Hang on..." He dried his hands on his jeans and pulled it out, smearing residual drops of water across the screen, and read the message.

He blanched.

"Shoot. Oh, _shoot_." Tony shoved the phone away and ran out of the bathroom, his blood rushing in his ears.

"Tony, are you..."

"I have to go, Rogers, sorry." Tony pushed past him.

"But-"

"Can't!" Tony raced down the hall and out the front doors of the school, his heart pounding.

Nope.

He wasn't panicking.

But yeah, he was.


	5. Friendship 101

_A bit longer between chapters this time, I apologize. It's been quite a week. Hopefully this is (melo?)dramatic enough to make up for the wait. _

_ Thanks for reading! Your reviews make my day. _

* * *

_Tony looked around the cave at the supplies that had been delivered. Boxes, crates; stacks of goods, so many with the Stark Industries logo on them. Loyal customers indeed._

_ He bent over a missile head, trying to find hold on the smooth metal and unscrew the top. Yensin looked over his shoulder. _

_ "You know, this might go more smoothly if you actually include me in the planning process." _

_ "Yeah, uh huh." Tony narrowed his eyes and removed the clamp, focused. _

_ Distantly, he registered Yensin's sigh as the man stepped away to continue checking off the list to ensure that everything had been collected. _

_ Their liaison, violent as he was, hadn't been lying when he said he could get Tony whatever he needed. _

_ Watching dozens of weapon-laden adult men scramble to follow the (albeit translated) orders of a skinny, mop-headed teenage prisoner would've been a whole lot funnier if their situation hadn't been so dangerous. Well. Maybe he'd laugh about it in a few years. _

_ If he made it there. _

_ He dissembled the warhead and removed the palladium core, directing Yensin to help him break down the rest. _

_ Yensin did so willingly. He worked efficiently, joking with Tony and stopping him after a few hours to make sure he ate something. _

_ Much later, as they were both lying in their cots, Yensin snoring lightly and Tony trying to get to sleep despite the blue glow of his newly-installed arc reactor, he realised something. _

_ Without really meaning to, and without any foreseeable way to take it back, he'd started thinking of Yensin as a friend. _

_ By doing so, he was giving Yensin a degree of power. Power to hurt him. _

_ Worst of all, it meant that Tony would care about losing the man._

_ And that scared him. _

* * *

Tony stopped outside the door, pulse racing. It was closed, but unlocked.

He laid a hand against the wood and hesitated; there was no way to know what waited for him inside.

Unless...

"Jarvis."

The response came out of the intercom by the doorbell-still more computerized than he would've liked, but that didn't matter right now. "Yes, sir?"

"Is there anybody in the house?"

There was a pause, and Tony focused on breathing evenly. (Running the mile-and-a-half here from the school really hadn't been a very good idea.)

"It does not appear so, sir. Yours is the the only life sign I am detecting on the grounds. Aside from some assorted pests."

Tony exhaled. "Good. Warn me if anybody comes to the door. Or... anywhere else." He slipped inside and secured the lock behind himself, flicking the light on.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

The place was trashed.

Tony's parents had been minimalists, when it came to decorating and furnishing a house, and he hadn't done anything to change that now that he had control.

He was amazed at how much of a mess could be made with so little to make it with.

The couch was overturned, cushions lying on the ground. Papers were strewn about and the few drawers he had were open, their contents spilling out. Fists clenched, Tony stepped over a broken vase. From the looks of the glass, it had been thrown at the floor. The pieces crunched under his shoes.

He found the kitchen to be no better. A few dress shoes and books were scattered down the stairs, which meant his parents' part of the house had been ransacked, too. Tony made no move to check. He didn't go up there.

"Jarvis?" He asked, toneless, as he stared at a painting his mother had done when he was small. It sat unceremoniously against the wall, frame broken and glass cracked.

"Yes, sir."

His voice grew tight. "Who did this?"

"I..." Jarvis paused. "Do not have audio or visual records of the break-in."

"What?" Tony glared at the ceiling. "How could you not have records? That's why we have cameras, Jarvis! That's why we have a security system in the first place! I got an alert from the silent alarm, so they _obviously_ triggered it. Where's the evidence?"

"It appears that someone has removed any trace of those files, sir." Jarvis sounded confused, his tinny voice slowing. "I am... unaware as to how this could have taken place."

Tony cursed. "Remind me to rewrite everything from scratch this time, Jarvis. We aren't using anybody else's research or code. Not even Dad's."

"I will make a note, sir."

Tony stood at the top of the stairs, torn.

"The damage downstairs is severe."

"Great, that makes me feel so much better." Tony forced himself to take a slow, deep breath and started down the stairs. It smelled like paint and burning metal. He looked down into the workshop and his heart dropped all over again.

"Dummy?" He ran straight to the robot, kneeling at his side. "Dummy, you still running?"

Dummy raised his mechanical arm and beeped dolefully. Tony righted him, his chest hot and tight. "Take it easy," he said. "Stay there."

You and Butterfingers were both alright, once he put them back right-side up, but Dummy was definitely going to need some repair work.

The couch down here was tipped over, too, and all his workstations had been rifled through and overturned. Tony was suddenly very grateful that he did his most important work digitally, and kept the files under layers upon layers upon _layers _of security.

It wasn't paranoia if there really were people after you.

He didn't have the heart for many jokes, as he stepped up to the slide-away wall that didn't appear on any of the house's blueprints. Nobody'd known about it except him and his dad. Now just him.

Jaw clenched, he brushed his fingers over the hidden keypad and waited for the click and hiss of the compartment depressurizing. His shoulders loosened- minutely, anyway- as he saw both models still intact and untouched.

The wall glided back into place and Tony turned away, straightening his desk lamp out of habit. It almost made him laugh, to see the lamp in his preferred position amidst the chaos. Something rolled out from under the desk, noisy on the metal floor, and hit Tony's shoe.

He bent down, feeling numb.

It was the old arc reactor; the one he'd built in the cave, with Yensin. He'd meant to throw it away, after building the replacement. Thought he had, already. But it must've gotten shuffled under the desk while he'd been working.

He pulled his arm back, prepared to throw it at the wall to smash.

But at the last second, he stopped, his muscles going limp. The arc reactor clinked as he dropped it back onto the desk.

"Jarvis..." He began, spinning on his heel.

His gaze caught on the transparent wall between the two rooms and he stopped, his words sticking in his throat.

A message was emblazoned on the glass, written in thick, red paint that was still wet and dripping.

_We will find it. _

* * *

Pepper's shoes clicked all the way up the sidewalk. She shivered, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. The sun was dipping behind the horizon, lighting the skyline in that way that photographers were so eager to capture. It was pretty, but she was much more focused on the modern, streamlined entryway that quickly loomed closer.

Her heels sank into the welcome mat as she reached for the doorbell. Before she could ring, the door flew open and Tony pulled her inside.

She stumbled against him as he slammed the door. "Tony?"

"Pepper." He looked her over in the dim light, his eyes red-rimmed. "What are you doing here? Are you hurt? How did you get here? You weren't followed, were you?"

"I-"

"You're not hurt?"

"No," she said, confused. "No, I'm not. Tony, I am _fine_. I came because I haven't seen you in awhile. What's wrong?"

She watched as he instantly shifted gears, trying to downplay it. "No-nothing, nothing. I just-"

"Stop." His hands were cold in hers, and trembling. "Look at me."

He stared at his shoes.

"Tony."

For a moment she thought he would refuse, then his gaze rose hesitantly to meet hers, a fear behind his eyes that she hadn't seen before. "I'm alright," he said, quiet.

"Liar."

She tugged him into a hug. He was unresisting, his arms falling limp at his sides and his face pushing into her shoulder. Tension reverberated through his frame, his muscles tight as she held onto him.

"Now tell me," she said, gentling her tone. "What's wrong?"

* * *

She stood in the middle of his lab, nausea pushing up through her stomach as she looked at the shattered equipment and bone-chilling message.

_Do you know who did this?_

_ No._

_ Do you know what they were looking for? _

_ ...No. _

"Tony?"

He jerked out of a daze, kicking broken glass out of the way. "Yeah."

"Put some clean clothes in a bag, and get your backpack."

"Why?"

"Because I asked you to. Go on." Pepper levelled him with a stern look that, under other circumstances, might have had him bristling (because, _I'm not a kid, Pepper) _but as it was, he just nodded and disappeared into another room. Pepper turned slowly on the spot, assessing the damage.

"Hello," she said briskly, phone pressed to her ear. "Yes, thank you. This is Virginia Potts. I need to schedule an appointment for tomorrow. Yes, I know it's late." She reached up to touch the painted words, morbidly curious. Her finger came away wet and she held the substance to her nose.

Thankfully, it _was_ paint.

"Yes, sir. We'd like the whole crew. Seven o'clock is fine. I imagine it will take a few hours. I assume your prudence will prove as complete as in the past. Thank you very much. Yes, I can assure full payment. I'll leave ten percent here as an advance. Thank you, sir. Good night." She slipped her phone back into her pocket, wiping the paint off on one of Tony's many oil-stained rags and sighing.

Cleaning the place up would be no problem. The trouble was Tony. She knew, though he hadn't said it, that this was really the only place he still felt safe.

And now even that semblance of security was gone.

"Pepper?" He asked, coming back into the room. His backpack was slung over his shoulder, a grocery bag clutched in one hand. "Who was that?"

"Just taking care of things. Alright, we're leaving." She grabbed the edge of his sleeve and pulled him through the wreckage. It took a moment for him to tug back.

"Wait. Leaving to where? Why?"

Pepper led him forward again. "Somewhere cleaner."

* * *

It was a mark of how much Tony had shut down that he didn't say a word when they pulled up to the hotel.

Or when she paid for the room with his card.

Or riding up the elevator, or even when she slid the key and let them in, setting down her schoolbag and spare clothes (she believed in always being prepared) to survey the room. It was clean and inviting and peaceful. Just what she'd wanted.

In fact, he didn't say anything until after she'd closed him in the bathroom to change into his pajamas while she did the same. He had a lost look on his face, his eyes distant.

She shut off all the lights, except for one small lamp next to the bed, and brushed her teeth at the kitchenette. Finally, Tony came back out, wearing a new hoodie and a pair of striped pants.

He must've owned more hoodies than most people had socks.

"Come on," she said, sliding in on one side of the bed and pointing to the other. He took a couple steps closer, then looked up at her.

And then he suddenly came back to life.

The color drained from his face and he stumbled backwards, shaking his head quickly. "No, no, Pepper. No, I don't want- _Pepper_." His hands were balled at his sides. "Not with you. Not... Not this."

His chest rose and fell erratically, his eyes wide.

"Tony," she said gently, choosing not to take offence at the statements he (probably) hadn't meant offensively. "Relax. That's not why we're here."

He spoke quietly, like a frightened little boy. "It's not?"

"No, stupid. Also, ew. Just come here."

The way he approached her was painfully hesitant, his movements careful as he climbed up onto the bed. Any of the confidence he put on for everyone was gone.

He stayed on the other side of the bed, half kneeling, and gave her a very uncertain look. "Then what..."

"You're cheaper than a new space heater." She yanked on his arm to make him lay down and dragged the covers over them both. Tony was stiff as a board, his breathing shallow. His heart, she imagined, was racing.

"I'm..." He trailed off as she pulled him closer and rested her head on his shoulder.

He didn't make any move to relax, so she sat up and spoke matter-of-factly. "Tony. We are going to go to sleep, and hopefully stay asleep all night. In the morning we will wake up and I will probably make you eat breakfast and try to convince you that you don't need any coffee. I will then drive you to school and be a little late to my first class at the college. After school you can go home and the cleaning service will have fixed everything up by then. That's all. Okay?"

He met her eyes, swallowing and giving a nod. "Okay."

It took a few more moments, but he finally relaxed, curling into her and holding on tightly. His breathing evened out and his shoulders loosened, the stress lines in his face smoothing out.

Once he'd stopped fidgeting and gone quiet, she reached up and switched off the light. All the tension went out of him and he heaved a soft sigh.

"Good night, Tony," she said, quietly.

"Night," he whispered.

There was a pause. "And... Pepper?"

She tightened her grip on his hand. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

* * *

Tony traced his hand on a piece of paper and sketched out measurements and better joint locations, keeping his eyes away from the projected screen at the front of the classroom.

"...by 1940, Germany..." The narrator was male, his voice dispassionate for the subject. Tony tuned him out almost entirely.

A millimeter larger on the thumb... He penciled the correction in and glanced down to see a text from Pepper.

_The cleaning crew is done with your house. It should be more or less back to normal when you get there._

A pang shot through his chest and he responded.

_thanks._

He really, really, _really_ didn't deserve a friend like Pepper.

The documentary continued to play in the background as Tony went over the diagram in pen.

They'd started talking about the concentration camps now.

A desk scraped at the front and Tony looked up. Bruce Banner muttered something to the teacher and hurried out, his shoulders tense. The air around him seemed to shimmer, looking almost green.

Maybe he was sick. Or maybe he just didn't like watching this- Tony really didn't know or overly care either way.

But just minutes later, Steve stood, barely able to nod to Ms. Hill before he raced out.

Tony hesitated for seventeen seconds before shoving everything into his bag and following, grabbing Steve's backpack on the way.

"Rogers?"

He found him around the corner, puking into a trash can.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." Tony skidded to a halt. "Steve?"

He gagged and looked away as the rest of Steve's stomach contents were expelled. When Steve finally stopped, hands white-knuckled on the edges of the bin and breathing ragged, Tony dug around in his backpack. He produced an oil rag that was in need of some washing, and a half-filled bottle of water that could've easily been days old. Well, it was something, anyway. Tony didn't do so great with... well, most people. But especially sick people.

"Uh... Here." He held both out, trying not to inch away from the smell. Steve accepted them and took a few shaky steps.

"C'mere." Tony grabbed his arm and dragged him and both backpacks into an empty classroom. Steve sank down against the wall and wiped his mouth with the rag, gulping the warm water and staring hard at the floor.

Tony entertained the idea of leaving him there.

Really, he should just leave him there.

...he slid down next to him and looked over. "You good?"

"I'm alright," Steve said, elbows resting on his knees.

"You are the worst liar I've ever encountered. With the exception of Parker, possibly." Tony gave him a look. "I'm so not into all that emotional crap, Rogers, so I'm not going to coax it out of you. Just spill."

"Nothing. Nothing. I just... I never saw footage from the camps. I never got... full reports. Not like that." Steve rubbed a hand over his face, looking like he might throw up again. "I knew it was happening, but... I didn't know how bad."

Tony blinked at him. "You... really take these things to heart, don't you?"

Steve startled. "What?" His eyes widened. "I mean. Yes, it was a long time ago, of course, but I haven't ever seen a, a documentary that was so... like that, before."

"Uh...huh." Tony looked him over, a seed of a thought planting itself in his mind. He disregarded it for the moment, relegating it back with the rest of the things he wasn't thinking about at present. "That's perfectly... rational. You want to go back to class?"

"Not while they're watching that." He glanced up at Tony sidelong.

"Fair enough. Come on, I'm starved, and by the time we get to a decent burger joint you'll be hungry again." His back popped as he stood, offering Steve a hand up.

Steve's face contorted. "I... Really shouldn't miss class. Mr. Coulson..."

"Don't sweat it, Rogers. We'll get back before they mark roll for the next period. And that reminds me, what's it like living with Coulson? I swear he has eyes in the back of his head." He yanked on Steve's arm.

Steve stood obligingly, but hesitated to answer. "Well..."

"Long story. I understand." He clapped Rogers's shoulder. "You can tell me over milkshakes. And we're not sharing anything. Germs. I don't know where you've been." They collected their backpacks and ducked out of the classroom. Tony looked both ways to make sure no teachers were coming. Not that they'd do anything to him even if they saw.

"Coast is clear." He shot Steve a confident grin. "We'll be back before they know it. No problem."

* * *

He really should've known by this point not to tempt fate.


	6. Consequences

_Good gravy... I'm sorry for the wait. I've not been able to focus enough to write more than a couple sentences at a time. Here's a short chapter. Thank you for your patience and your lovely words!_

* * *

_Tony took a large gulp of coffee, relishing the burn of the hot liquid down his throat. When they weren't working the fires and soldering equipment, the cave got pretty nippy. _

_ "You would like some more?" Yensin offered. _

_ "Sure." Tony smiled ruefully as Yensin poured another mugful from the tin kettle. _

_ He never would've thought he'd see a day when he was grateful for crappy, watered down coffee, but he was. His Dad told him, used to tell him, stories about before Stark Industries really took off, when cheap diner coffee was the only thing he could afford. And his Mom didn't, hadn't liked it to begin with, so she said it was all the same to her. _

_ "You got any family?" He asked Yensin, cupping the warm metal between his hands. Yensin paused, surprised, and then gave a small smile. _

_ "Yes, and I will see them when I leave here." _

_ Tony nodded, rubbing his thumb over a rusty spot on his mug and losing himself in thought again. _

_ "And you, Stark?" _

_ Tony looked up. Then looked away, and shook his head. "Nah." _

_ "Ah. I had forgotten, I apologise."_

_ He wished he could forget that easily. _

_ "You know," Yensin said, sounding half-contemplative and half-sorrowful. "There are many who would say that you have everything. But really, you have nothing. Is that not so?"_

_ Tony bit down hard on the inside of his lip, and forced a smile that turned to a grimace. _

_ "Yeah."_

* * *

Tony held a rag to his mouth, using the back of his wrist to swipe blood from his forehead before it dripped into his eye. It smeared across his skin and started to dry, joining the other streaks and making his hand look almost sunburnt.

It was heavy and sickly sweet between his teeth.

"That looks pretty bad," Steve said quietly, leaning across the space between their chairs. "How are your ribs?"

"Fine." Tony brushed him off. "That one hit like a five-year-old. I'd be more worried about yourself, anyway. I don't know how the heck you're still moving after that." He gestured loosely toward Steve's head.

One of them had swung a metal briefcase at him.

Steve was looking a little concussed.

Tony turned his rag to a last non-bloodied section, pressing it to his mouth again, and said as much.

"I am not concussed," Steve said, sinking down in his seat like he wanted to melt into the floor. Tony felt similarly.

But at least his guilt was tempered by confusion and an odd sense of triumph.

The door opened and closed, and Vice Principal Coulson's mild tone split the silence.

"Gentlemen."

Tony watched all the color drain out of Steve's face.

He stumbled to his feet, going straight and square-shouldered. "Sir. I, Ag- Mr. Coulson. I can explain- " He swayed on the spot and Tony tugged him down, giving Coulson a look that dared him to protest.

Steve had that reprimanded military look he'd had on the first day of school, only a million times worse. Tony thought he was probably a candidate for early heart problems.

"You may remain seated." Coulson took his place across the desk, placing twined hands in front of himself. "Before we do anything else, have you boys been checked over by a medical professional?"

They exchanged a glance.

"I'll take that as a no." Coulson raised one eyebrow minutely. "Steve, I'm not going to have you hanged, so please stop looking like I'm your executioner."

"I... will, sir."

Tony lifted two fingers. "Hey, so, just to clear it up, this was all my idea. Add it to the laundry list and you can just let Rogers here go."

"Oh, really?" Coulson leaned back. "That's not what I've heard."

"People talk, Mr. Coulson." Tony didn't think that anybody besides action movie characters could be intimidating while bleeding, but he went for it anyway. "And most of them change the truth to fit their liking. You must know that as well as anybody, in your line of work."

Steve stiffened beside him, and Coulson's gaze went very calculated. "I don't know what you mean."

Tony filed their reactions away with the forty-two thousand other pieces of information he was still trying to sort through, and shrugged easily. "High schoolers can spit out crap better than any other single group in existence, with the possible exception of bureaucrats and weathermen. You can't believe everything you hear in the halls."

"Point taken, Mr. Stark." Coulson steepled his fingers. "So why don't you just cut through all of that and tell me exactly what happened?"

"Wait, me?" Tony blinked.

"Yes." Coulson seemed serene, but the faintest of tension in his shoulders and the steel in his eyes gave him away. "Whenever you're ready."

Something about the way he said it told Tony he'd be a lot happier if he just spat it out and did so quickly.

"Well, uh. It started when our esteemed Mr. Rogers here-" He clapped Steve on the shoulder, his words thick through his bruised mouth. "Was... taken ill during history."

"Taken ill?"

"Uh huh." Tony leaned back in his chair. "So we- I mean I, I decided and I dragged Steve with me. I decided the best option was to take a break and see if he felt better after that. Taking a break _in _the school building hardly counts as a break at all, the opposite really, so we went downtown to get burgers and fries."

Coulson shook his head. "That was very irresponsible."

"We were going to be back before the next class started," Steve cut in. "I swear."

"Anyway." Tony wanted to get this over with. "After we were done there was this bunch of guys outside. I don't know, I kind of recognized some of them. But they jumped us and we fought back."

"It wasn't Tony's fault," Steve said. "He didn't do anything wrong."

Coulson looked up from his hands. "You mean, aside from being truant and taking you with him."

There was a long pause.

"I'm disappointed in you, Steve. I'm not sure this situation is the best fit for you."

Steve's hands were tight on the arms of his chair. "It is. I'll do better, I promise I will. Please give me another chance, sir."

He was taking this too seriously.

Unless... Coulson was going to send him back to wherever he'd taken him in from if he didn't do well here. Tony wondered if Steve was a foster system kid, or something else entirely. Either way, the fear that was barely concealed on Steve's face suddenly made a lot more sense.

"We'll discuss it later. For now, Principal Fury wants to talk to you. Go ahead in."

If Steve had been pale before, he was paper-white now. Marshmallow white. He stood, steps uneven, and made his way out of the small office.

Coulson turned his focus to Tony.

"Mr. Stark, you're suspended. Three days, and be grateful it isn't more."

"What about Steve?"

"What happens to Mr. Rogers has yet to be decided. He doesn't have the leverage that you do." Coulson pushed a piece of paper across the table. "I'll need the names of anyone you recognized, and the general characteristics of anyone you didn't. Your guardian will be here to collect you in a few minutes."

Tony stiffened. "Obadiah?"

"Yes. We called Mr. Stane shortly after you returned." Coulson stood and pushed his chair in, straightening the shade on his lamp. His calmly matter-of-fact expression and tone never seemed to falter.

Tony sucked in a painful breath. "Does he-know Steve was involved?"

"Not yet."

"Don't tell him." Tony leaned forward. Coulson simply looked at him, and Tony's stomach clenched. "Mr. Coulson. Don't tell him. If he finds out I hang out with Steve, he'll change my classes, not let me talk to him again."

This was tantamount to admitting he cared. But if it got the desired result, he'd do it. "I... Please, okay? I'll take my suspension with my head down and I won't do it again. Just don't mention Steve to him."

"Why would he prevent you from seeing Mr. Rogers?" Coulson sat down again.

"He..." Tony swallowed and looked at his hands, picking at a loose thread on his hoodie. "Doesn't really like me having friends. I mean, it's because he wants to keep things secure, I know. He's got everything under control. But, I would like it better if he didn't know. Please."

Coulson was quiet for a moment.

"Very well, Mr. Stark. I see no reason why he needs to be informed."

Tony exhaled, hard and fast. "Thanks. Thank you."

Coulson inclined his head. "Consider it an investment."

Before Tony had time to figure out what _that _meant, there was a sharp knock at the door, and Obadiah stepped in.

"Mr. Stane," Coulson greeted, shaking his hand. Obadiah nodded tersely.

"Hello, Coulson. Tony, let's go."

Tony stood woodenly. "Alright."

Coulson said no more, and closed the door behind them.

"You've done it this time, kid." Obadiah gave him a look that was playful on top and all cold anger underneath. Tony kept his gaze ahead, not letting it drift to the principal's office on the way by.

Three days.

Well, he'd waited longer.


	7. Once in a Blue Moon

_Hello hello! Again, a bit longer of a wait, I'm sorry._

_Next chapter will bring in a bunch of new characters, which I know a lot of you are anxious for. We'll see how they get along._

_Did you all see the lovely Avengers cast at the Oscars on Sunday? It made my week. _

_Thanks for reading!_

* * *

_Tony's fingers were steady as he laid a final piece in place. Slowly, he guided it down into its proper slot and reached for the blow torch._

_ "Careful, Tony," Yensin warned. Tony flipped up his goggles and shot the man a dry look. _

_ "I've been doing this since I was six years old, Yensin. I'm pretty sure I'll be fine." _

_ "Be that as it may, I-"_

_ Metal scraped on metal as the door was pushed open. _

_ Tony sprung away from his work and touched his hands to the back of his head in an unsettlingly Pavlovian reaction. Yensin was tense beside him. _

_ Fazir stormed in, backed by a dozen guards. _

_ Yensin and Fazir spoke back and forth, until both voices raised to a shout. Tony looked back and forth between them, feeling helpless. Where was a babel fish when he needed one? _

_ Then two of the men grabbed Yensin's arms, and wrestled him to the ground and pressing his cheek against an anvil. The atmosphere of the room changed, chilling, and Fazir picked up a pair of tongs. _

_ Yensin repeated the same phrase, with increasing desperation. Fazir clamped a hot coal in the tongs and pushed it toward Yensin. _

_ Tony's blood ran cold as he realized what the man intended. _

_ One of the men forced Yensin's mouth open, and Tony stepped forward. Every gun in the room trained on his head. _

_ "W-wait. Stop." Tony kept his hands in front of him. _

_ Fazir paused. _

_ "I need him," Tony said, trying to inject as much carelessness into his voice as he could. He forced a nonchalant shrug, trying to sound as if he was discussing whether or not he wanted crusts on his sandwich. "Good assistant." _

_ Fazir considered this for a moment, then dropped the coal onto the anvil. He gave a soft snort. "I guess it's your lucky day." _

_ The men dropped Yensin to the floor and left as abruptly as they'd come. _

_ Tony hesitated, his heart pounding, then offered Yensin a hand, pulling him up. "You good?"_

_ "Yes." Yensin exhaled, picking up his glasses. "Yes, I am well. Thank you." _

_ "Yeah." Tony turned his back and shuffled his blueprints, trying not to think about how the coal had hissed against cold metal. _

_ They needed more time._

_ "What is that?" Yensin asked, looking over his shoulder. _

_ Tony stepped back. "Flatten it out and see." _

_ Yensin smoothed the papers and the clean lines came into view. Tony had already dubbed it Mark I, in his mind, and still felt a sense of dysphoria as he imagined himself wearing it. _

_ "That does not look like a Jericho missile." _

_ Tony shook his head. "No." He tapped the circle that represented the arc reactor, and gave a small, crooked smile. "That's our ticket out of here."_

* * *

Talking to Director Fury wasn't anything like talking to Agent Coulson.

Steve stood in the Director's large office-shoulders squared, hands behind his back, feet apart-and kept his eyes straight ahead as Fury reprimanded him. His head spun and his knees threatened to buckle, but he remained perfectly still and steady.

"You acted irresponsibly and selfishly, Rogers," Fury was saying, his chair pushed back. "We're going to have to reevaluate the current arrangement."

"I understand, sir," Steve said, his chest feeling tight.

"Now, the only reason I signed off for you to be let out in the first place is because Coulson vouched for you, and because Barton and Romanoff can't have eyes everywhere at once. Your age made you a suitable candidate for this operation." The lines around Fury's mouth deepened. "But as of right now, you have ceased to be an asset and become a liability. So give me one good reason why I shouldn't have you shipped back to the facility tonight and find somebody else."

The door opened and closed. "Because there is no one else, Director." Coulson's soft-spoken words settled heavy on the air.

Steve focused on the ground beneath his feet, willing the soles of his shoes to push into the thin carpet and hold him upright. A hint of grey crept onto the edges of his vision. Maybe Tony had been right, and he was concussed.

"Agent Coulson." Director Fury was cool. "I don't believe I asked for your input."

"No, sir." Coulson sat. "But you can have it anyway. And you'll want it, after you see these."

Fury took the outstretched file and flipped it open.

"Sit down, Steve," Coulson said evenly. Steve hesitated, then sank down gratefully, clasping shaky hands in his lap.

Everything was silent except the quiet shuffle of papers. The air grew increasingly tense as Fury read through whatever it was that Coulson had offered him, his frown darkening with each page.

"These are the newest reports?" He asked finally, looking up with a fire smoldering in his one eye.

"They are." Coulson leaned forward. "Three more missing just this week. Even one from the elementary school." Steve looked over and caught a twitch of Coulson's fingers; the one telltale sign that he was not as collected as he seemed.

"Three more?" Steve's eyes widened. "How many is that now?"

"Thirty-two," Fury said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "That we know of. There could easily be more. Not every kid with powers or a high IQ gets on the map."

Steve shook his head. "But... How do people not notice that thirty-two kids have gone missing in the last two months?"

Fury raised an eyebrow. "Two-thirds of the victims were orphaned or abandoned, and almost all of the remaining third provided legitimate excuses. Only a handful of the affected families actually believe that their children were abducted. So. People notice, but they don't connect the dots."

There was a long pause, then Coulson gave Fury a look. "You understand what this means, don't you, sir?"

"I do," Fury said, mouth twisting. He leaned back heavily in his chair.

"What does it mean?" Steve asked, hesitant.

"It means..." Fury pulled a new file out of his desk. "That you get to stay."

"I do?" Steve held his breath, trying not to be too hopeful. They could easily change their minds, and then it would be back to the cold, grey-walled SHIELD facility. "What... what are the conditions?"

"We're going to have to speed up the operation." Fury held out the file. "Here are your new directives. Inside is a list of the students we believe will be high-profile targets. Your task is to befriend and protect them. Bring them together. You'll be collaborating with Romanoff and Barton, and we expect the three of you to deliver results."

Steve flipped the file open and skimmed the list.

_Thor Odinson, Loki Odinson, Bruce Banner..._

_ Tony Stark. _

His insides flopped unpleasantly.

"Is that all, Director?" Coulson asked, his tone sharp.

"That's all. You're dismissed."

Steve closed the papers with a snap and stood, blinking away stars from his eyes. "Thank you, sir," he said, woodenly.

He turned on his heel to leave.

"Oh, and Rogers... One more thing."

He turned back. "Yes, sir?"

Fury's expression was fixed. "This is your last shot. Don't blow it."

Steve felt very heavy, like iron had been poured into his lungs and settled there. He forced an even response. "Yes, sir, I understand."

Coulson closed the door behind them, and spoke quietly. "Come on, Steve. Let's get you to a doctor."

Steve nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

* * *

Tony stared at the living room ceiling, listening to the drip of the faucet from the kitchenette. He needed to fix that.

"Sir?" Jarvis asked, quiet.

"Yeah." Tony traced a circle around the arc reactor, feeling tired. Obadiah had yelled at him, and being yelled at made him angry, and then once the anger wore off, he was always tired.

"You recall the channels you asked me to monitor?"

Tony sat up. "Another hit?"

Jarvis spoke neutrally. "Indeed, sir. Outside of Qalat. I would recommend an immediate departure."

Tony stood, adrenaline tingling through his fingers, and hit the button to reveal the suit.

"Hallelujah."


	8. Smoke and Mirrors and Robots

Hello, my friends. It's been awhile, I apologize. But here we are! With a chapter that hopefully meets expectations.

And let's just agree to _pretend_ that Howard's timeline works out. If you need an actual explanation, well, he's Howard Stark. We all know he must've dallied around with time travel at some point. There was some period of time where he was said to be taking a sabbatical, but he really just skipped ahead a few decades. And when he came back from said break looking not a day older, people figured he'd just gotten really good plastic surgery.

There we go.

Enjoy!

* * *

_Tony rubbed his eyes, blinking twice to clear his vision and flipped his goggles back down. _

_"We're never gonna finish in time," he said, glancing up at the clock. _

_"Yes, we will," Yensin said, setting a cup of coffee and a small bowl of stew on the table beside him. "Eat these, Stark." _

_"No time." Tony fused the leg joint into place, his focus tunnelling. They had three more hours, tops, and he had at least seven hours of work left. _

_Yensin turned off his blowtorch. "Stark." _

_Tony pushed his goggles into his hair and glared. "There's no time, Yensin. Unless you want both of us to end up shot then deep-fried by the sun." _

_"There is no telling how long it will take to reach a safe place after the escape," Yensin said gently. "Take a moment to eat while you have the chance." _

_For several seconds, Tony just stared at the offered food. Then he sighed, and wiped sweat away from his eyes. "Fine. You had somethin' already?"_

_"I did," Yensin said. "I will heat more metal while you eat." _

_"Alright." Tony perched on a stool and scooped stew onto a piece of bread. The meal tasted like sawdust in his mouth, and his stomach churned in protest. He hated being nervous. It made him feel inside-out and jittery, and he _hated_ it. But he'd never been able to talk himself out of feeling nervous; he'd just gotten really good at pretending._

_He stared down into his coffee, his mind jumping through every what-if and variable. _

_"This will work, Tony," Yensin said, clasping his shoulder on the way by. "It will work." _

* * *

Tony watched the ocean whizz by below him, all blue with the occasional white dot of a sailboat.

Sailing made him puke.

He was flying just low enough that he'd hopefully avoid another ping from the boys in uniform, but high enough that nobody on the ground-or in this case, the sea-would think too much of him.

"I would suggest altering your course slightly, sir," Jarvis said, his voice still crackling over the speakers. He was working on that. "According to news reports, there appears to be a disturbance in Midtown. There are sure to be authorities on the scene, so you may want to avoid it."

"Avoid it? If there's a disturbance, we're going straight there."

Jarvis had a remarkable ability to sound put-upon. "Very well. I will enter the coordinates. Please do try not to get yourself killed, sir. It would be terribly inconvenient."

"Aw. You do care." Tony did a quick check of his remaining ammo. "No need to worry, Jarvis. I just blew a bunch of dangerous sociopathic terrorists to the sky. What could be harder than that?"

He took a wide turn around a building and a giant robot came into view.

Tony blinked twice. "Well. I spoke too soon."

"There is still time to turn-"

"Shh. Who's that?" Tony swooped lower and hovered in place, squinting. There was a flash of red white and blue. Smoke was rising from the wreckage of several smashed cars and what appeared to be a taco stand. Flames licked at a striped umbrella and a mournful looking Chihuahua.

"I cannot get a clear reading, sir. He is human."

"Gee, thanks." Tony switched on his targeting system and waited for the hum of weapons initializing. "That really narrows it down. Stay patched into police radios and news stations. I need updates as they come."

Tony landed a half dozen yards away from the center of the fight. The robot seemed even larger from this angle; at least twenty feet high. Its feet were easily the size of especially large dogs, and it was using them to stomp on anything that crossed its path.

"Oh, great, not another one." Tony heard a voice from behind, heightened by his advanced voice recognition and amplification software. (And he made a mental note to find a better name for it, because it was really a mouthful.)

There was a clang of metal on metal as something struck his head, and Tony spun around. "Hey!"

A figure stood, dressed in a daredevil jumpsuit version of the American flag. Tony stared at him. "Who the heck are you?"

The guy curled to throw his metal doom frisbee again and Tony held up his hands. "Whoa whoa whoa, hey! Cool it, Justice League, I'm human!"

Stars and Stripes paused and looked Tony over suspiciously. "Prove it."

"No can do. But I cross my heart." He made an X over his chest. "I'm just as human as you are."

"Then why are you-"

"Coming through!" Another figure swung past, knocking Tony askew. It shot out a burst of white stringy stuff that looped around the robot's legs.

The new guy seemed to be wearing a red and blue spandex suit.

"Did I miss a memo or something?" Tony asked. "Bring your primary colored circus clothes to work day?"

But Stars and Stripes wasn't in the mood for jokes, apparently. He radiated fun-sucker. "If you really are human, get out of the way so I can take care of this."

"Ha ha, you're funnier than I thought you'd be." Tony powered up his repulsors and took off. "No way am I letting you take over." He shot up until he was above the robot's head, and landed with a bang on the thing's shoulders. Silver panels covered any of the important bits, but Tony punched through the metal and ripped it off.

"Hey, look out!" Spandex Guy shouted, continuing his dart-and-run method of trapping the robot's legs.

Tony glanced up in time to see a giant arm headed for him. The metal doom frisbee slammed into its wrist, knocking it away, and Tony tipped off a sloppy salute. "Thanks, General," he muttered.

Stars and Stripes was already busy ushering panicked citizens out of the way. Spandex Guy used some of his gluey stuff to pin the offending arm down, balancing on one arm in a way that didn't seem quite plausible for normal humans.

Tony turned his attention back to the blinking circuitry inside the robot's neck. It was pretty advanced-not _Stark Industries _advanced, of course, but not sixth grade science project crap, either. The wires were attached to several silver motherboards and boxes.

He shrugged. "May as well."

And started tearing out parts at random. The robot's movements stuttered, then resumed without any sort of precision. It swiped at the air with its free arm and stomped forward with its ankles tied.

It hit Stars and Stripes in the chest and sent him flying backward. He didn't get up. The Spandex clad kid-was that a _spider_ on his suit?-dropped down from his lamppost perch. "You good?"

"Fine," Stripey said, in a strangled voice. Spandex offered him an hand and pulled him up.

Satisfied that Mr. Patriot would live, Tony reached in up to his elbow until his hands closed around a central column of wires and yanked.

The robot's head sank down, its eyes flickering out, but it continued to move. Tony cursed under his breath.

"Really?"

"No, no, this is good!" Spandex shot out a string of web (Tony had guessed he was going for an arachnid angle at this point) and propelled himself to balance on the robot's shoulder. It was still grabbing wildly at the air.

"Good that it can still work without its brain? Yeah, that's _awesome_." Tony grabbed on to steady himself when the robot turned quickly. Spandex wasn't so lucky. He fell off the side and sent up a web rope, swinging to the ground.

"Keep tearing stuff out," he shouted. "I'll tie it up better!"

Stripey seemed to get where Spandex was going. "I'll wait for your signal," he said. "Make sure you're well out of the way."

"Will do!"

Tony stretched to grab more of the wires, then blew out an exasperated breath and sent a repulsor blast straight in.

The robot crumpled forward.

"Hey!" Spandex scrambled to get out of the way, hands still attached by webbing to the robot's legs. Tony rolled his eyes and dove down, grabbing him by the arm and depositing him across the street.

"Give a guy some warning next time!" He said, indignant. Tony shrugged.

"Is it... dead?" Stars and Stripes edged around it. It seemed to make him nervous.

"Technically it wasn't alive to begin with," Spandex said, and kicked its metal side. "But yeah, it's dead."

Stripey let out a breath, his shoulders loosening. "Good."

But Tony just looked at the thing skeptically. It felt too easy. If he'd been building a giant robot to terrorize a city, he would've installed failsafes. And for that matter, weapons.

"Good work, you two," Stripey said.

"Yeah, you too." Spandex adjusted something on his wrists. "You break a rib or anything?"

"No, I'm alright." He held out a hand and Spandex shook it.

"Spider-Man," he said, a grin in his voice. "Who are you?"

"Captain America."

Tony scoffed. "You are not."

They both turned to look at him.

Stripey looked surprised. "Yeah, I am."

"You're really not." Tony kicked a piece of the robot's hand away. "The ol' Cap died back in the 1940's. Ask my dad, he was there."

"Your father? Who was your father?" Steve looked puzzled.

"H-" Tony stopped, and scowled. "Nobody. And none of your business. Point is, even if he were alive, he'd be about a million years old by now. And you're, what, fifteen?"

"Eighteen," Stripey said stiffly. "But whether you believe me or not, I am Captain America."

"I believe you," Spider-Man piped up, very unhelpfully.

"Can it, Spandex." Tony stepped forward. "Listen. I don't care who either of you are. But if anybody asks, you didn't see me here. Got it?"

"Uh... Good luck with that one." Spider-Man pointed behind them. Tony glanced back and swore.

A news helicopter was circling above, and several crews of people held cameras at the ready. Their faces were going to be plastered all across channels four through seven.

"You could not have expected anything else," Jarvis said. Tony's scowl deepened.

"Well, I'm out."

He pointed his repulsors at the pavement and blasted off, leaving a trail of steam behind.

Spider-Man waved up at him. "Nice meeting you, Iron Man!"

Jarvis sounded far too smug for an AI. "I did warn you, sir."

And if that wasn't an _I told you so,_ Tony would eat his helmet.

"Shut up."

* * *

Natasha leaned against Clint, who was leaning against a brick pillar, and examined her nails. They were both practiced in looking very bored but paying perfect attention.

Sometimes she wondered about Clint, if he wasn't looking very bored and really not paying any attention.

Today, she thought that he might've just been asleep.

Natasha glanced up out of the corners of her eyes, at a small crowd of elementary school children crossing in front of the high school. The smallest and loudest of them, a boy with flaming red hair, walked backwards in front of the rest and gesticulated violently.

"Did you guys see that on the news last night? It was so cool! The robot was all, stomp stomp stomp, and then Captain America was all, clang, and Iron Man did that thing with his hands and then Spider-Man was all, whoosh, and then they killed it!" He tried to demonstrate all the actions simultaneously and nearly tripped. One of his posse steadied him.

"Yeah, it was pretty cool."

"Pretty cool? It was the coolest thing I've ever seen in my life!"

Their chatter died away as they walked further down the street, and Natasha tapped her fingers against the cement. "Barton."

Clint's head lolled against her shoulder. She nudged him.

"Barton."

He startled awake. "Huh, what?"

"How much of that did you hear?"

"Uh..." He squinted, rubbing a hand through his hair and yawning. "Somethin' about... Swoosh and clang and how our three biggest headaches have banded together?"

"Close enough." Natasha jumped off the pillar and motioned for Clint to join her. "This is the second time you've drifted off this morning. Why?"

"Fury had me tailing this guy all night. Thought he might be an operative from the other side." Clint yawned again, wide and jaw-cracking, and stretched. He looked like an abnormally tall child. "I need a nap."

"You can sleep through mathematics. Right now, we need to talk to Fury. I can't do anything for him if he doesn't keep me informed." She tugged on Clint's sleeve, sighing when he leaned right back against the wall.

"Nat, you already know more than half the adult agents on this thing. How much more informed do you really need to be?" He rubbed at his eyes with one hand and tipped his head back.

Natasha looped her arm around him and pulled. "They're taking kids now, Clint. A five year old girl went missing yesterday."

Barton straightened and looked at her. "I didn't know that."

"Youngest so far." Natasha let him go and exhaled. "And Fury thinks getting Stark and the others to work together might be our last shot at stopping it. So yes, I need to be informed. I need all possible information, or-"

"Nat. Nat, I get it." Clint laid a hand on her arm. "We'll talk to Fury."

Natasha counted to ten, quickly in her head, and back down to one again.

_Odin_.

She let her shoulders loosen. "I'm-"

"It's okay. Come on."

He twined his fingers through hers and squeezed. She squeezed back before letting go and striding ahead, conscious of him beside her.

"I don't think there are a lot of students who send _themselves_ to the principal's office," Clint said wryly.

She gave him a bemused smile and brushed her shoulder against his.

He was a good partner.

* * *

Steve leaned forward to reach his pencil and cringed as his ribs pressed against the edge of his deck.

Tony poked him in the shoulder. "Coulson ever get you to a doctor?"

"Huh?" Steve paused, and remembered the fight they'd gotten into outside the burger joint. He nodded. "Oh. Yes, he did."

"And were you concussed?" Tony quirked an eyebrow.

Steve gave a sheepish smile. "Just slightly."

"And yet..." Tony made a sweeping gesture. "You're here."

"Uh huh." Steve took down tomorrow's homework and slid his books back into his bag. "I'm fine. I heal quickly."

"What, like a vitamin thing? Cool. I need some of that." Tony slung his bag over his shoulder and fell into step beside Steve. "Seriously though, if you pass out on me... I'm leaving you on the ground."

"Fair enough." Steve turned toward the cafeteria. Up ahead, he caught a glimpse of long blonde hair and broad shoulders, with a slimmer black haired boy nearby.

He bit his tongue and resigned himself.

When they neared the blonde, Steve tripped and let his elbow slam into his side, knocking his books askew.

"Excuse me, I'm so sorry." Steve felt himself turn red without having to try. He scrambled to pick up the books and held them out. "Sorry."

Odinson gave him a warm smile. "Worry not, I am unhurt. Are you well? You are quite flushed."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. Here are your books."

Odinson took them and tucked them back under his arm. He extended a hand. "Thor Odinson. And you are Steve Rogers, if I am not mistaken?"

"That's me." Steve smiled back, feeling like a terrible person.

"Wonderful. I have heard of you. This is my brother, Loki."

Loki gave a much smaller smile.

"Pleasure to meet you, Loki." Steve gestured. "This is Tony. Hey, why don't you two sit with us at lunch? Let me make all this up to you."

Thor beamed again. "No recompense is needed, friend Rogers. But we will join you."

So that took care of three of his targets, so far.

As they headed off to the cafeteria, Steve wished that, for once, he could make friends under normal circumstances.

But he didn't have much hope.


End file.
